The Sleep of the Soul
by Tarpeia
Summary: Sequel to The Redemption. Lily's life as Severus Snape's wife under the Dark Lord's rule. Very dark.


**Note:** Please allow me to thank you for your interest in my first darkfic and for your precious support. _The Sleep of the Soul_ is being written at request.

Many thanks to blue artemis for the beta and to Almanera for her priceless advice.

**Warning:** I'm afraid a sequel to _The Redemption_ cannot be cheerful. This story is set in a dystopian universe and contains mature and explicit scenes.

* * *

The blush of the somnolent sun was fading. Soon, a lizard green glow would bloom in the sky, obscuring the moon. For four successive nights, the Dark Mark had been unfolding on the horizon, setting a sinister routine which could never be grown accustomed to.

The breeze was delightfully cool; it sneaked into her large blue sleeves and inflated them into bell-like shapes. Despite the tingles of goose flesh over her arms, she savored the sensation just as much as the fresh scent of greenery in the wind and the whisper of the trees. A peculiar whistling sound of a rapidly spinning Sneakoscope was floating around, its intensity rising and falling at irregular intervals. It was curious, for no one in the house would ever scheme but Severus, and he had been summoned by the Dark Lord in the early afternoon. She was alone with their baby and their two devoted house-elves.

Lily glanced away from the window, letting her eyes wander to her son, who was attempting to crawl amid the soft cushions scattered on the floor. He was now seven months old. As early as a week ago, he had displayed his first sign of magic when, crying with hunger and impatience, he had caused the bottle of milk in his approaching father's hands to shatter. Whether it had been an instinctive hint of the Summoning Charm or a magical expression of frustration remained uncertain. Severus's elated _yesss_ had mildly disgusted Lily.

She wished she were able to give her poor baby at least a portion of the love he deserved. A reluctant tenderness and scraps of affection were all she had to offer, and she knew only too well this was not enough. How badly would her disinterest make the boy suffer? How would it influence his future? She dared not think of it, and Severus kept his assumptions to himself. Thus far, he had not said a word of blame to her; only his dour gaze betrayed his discontent. He was very fond of the baby.

As preposterous as it seemed, her attachment to Severus had been deepening. She felt so utterly dependent on him, so defeated and pathetic that it was beyond her understanding why he was still interested in her. Her gaze floated toward the steely surface of the distant lake, which was sparkling with orange and pink glints.

It was by this very same lake that Severus had recently taken her for a walk. A small enchanted boat had awaited them at the shore – a surprise he had arranged for her. They had spent the evening contemplating the savage green beauty of the surrounding hills while the boat slashed through the rolling water and the wind tossed their hair about their faces. The charm of that pure, peaceful moment had moved Lily to tears, and she had softly cried with gratitude. Once the darkness had descended, they had returned to Black Manor to a light dinner and hot drinks. Not only he had not touched her that night, he had also offered to read her a story of her choice before she fell asleep. This particular gesture had stirred her more profoundly than any other. By the time she had drifted off to sleep to the murmur of his voice, she would have consented to make love with him until dawn, should he express such a whim. It had been the happiest evening in her year and a half of captivity, a beam of sunshine in her otherwise bleak existence.

An existence aggravated by the knowledge that her health was deteriorating like a withering flower. She was no longer constrained to take the aphrodisiac potion Severus had designed for her, yet although he had been gradually reducing her doses before ceasing to brew the drug altogether, the change had been acute. A number of withdrawal symptoms had emerged, the most disturbing ones being the violent headaches, complications in her feminine cycle, and the frequent periods of heightened desire. During such instants, her loins would clench of their own accord, and the feeling of excitement would not leave her center for hours. She would think of the taste of his skin, of his scent, of the sparse birthmarks on his sallow torso, and fantasize of his thickness filling and stretching her as though she was a gluttonous snake.

She had asked Severus to swear he was not secretly feeding her another potion, to which he had obliged. This had left her to presume the drug had disrupted the natural processes of her body more severely than she had feared. If her exceeding lust did not fade, it might morph into a psychological addiction, and then she would be lost. She could not imagine a crueler and more mortifying perspective than being reduced to begging for Severus's touch. While it was true their intimate life had considerably improved over the last several months, one could say she could not gain the slightest relief from her misery without having to pay a tenfold price.

With a sigh, she pulled away and closed the window on the dusky sky tinctured with poison green. One last, feeble gust of wind blew strands of hair off her pallid face. She sat on the floor beside the baby, who was tugging at the fringes of the largest cushion with an endearing application. Feeling her presence, he looked up, and suddenly a smile, toothless and radiant, lit his face. Disarmed, Lily took him onto her lap to cuddle him, humming quietly in response to his contented coos. The room grew darker as the evening progressed, punctuated with the whistling of an invisible Sneakoscope.

* * *

Lily took a bite of an egg-shaped roasted potato, pensively eyeing the water decanter before her. Its bronze stopper was sculpted into a hog's head, and it closely resembled the decorative patterns she had encountered at Hogwarts. Hog's head had once been an uncommonly popular motive in this wizarding area, perhaps even more so than in Muggle medieval arts. When she was a student, there used to be a pub of the same name in Hogsmeade. _Hog's Head. Hogsmeade. Hogwarts. _

The boar represented a similar set of qualities as the lion: courage, resolution, defense of its values and fierce protectiveness of its offspring. She pictured Gryffindor's scarlet coat of arms with a golden boar in its center and smiled.

"What are you thinking?"

The sound of Severus's voice was always sufficient to remind her that the house of Gryffindor now only existed in her memories.

"Reflecting on the use of hog's head in wizarding visual arts."

The corners of his mouth twitched.

She finished her potatoes to the clink of their cutlery and watched her empty plate vanish. A piece of treacle tart materialized in its place, served with a scoop of clotted cream. She regarded it without interest.

"Do you enjoy being headmaster?" she asked.

"I suppose there are worse jobs."

Their gazes clashed, hers grave, his roguish.

"Believe me, there are," she assured him.

His eyes glinted. "Like what, for instance?"

She chose to ignore the teasing question. Somberly, she put a napkin on her dessert plate and waited for it to disappear. A bubble of arousal was building in her groin for no less than the fifth time since that morning.

"If you could get the job of your choice, what would it be?" she inquired, hoping for a distraction from her physical ailments.

"Research. Exploring the boundaries of known magic and refining our techniques of potion making would be an appropriate use of my time. Administration is hardly a fulfilling occupation."

It was undeniable his skill at developing new magic spells and perfecting even the most obscure potions was extraordinary. In truth, the Dark Lord's decision to entrust him with the time-consuming burden of directing Hogwarts had been fortunate for the Death Eaters' enemies.

Another question had already formed on her lips.

"Is anything new happening at Hogwarts?"

Spring had come, and the first school year under Voldemort's reign would soon be over. Classes would resume in September.

At once, his eyes turned blank. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, as much as I hate it, I'm a part of this world. Hogwarts is where we spend most of our time. I should know at least a crumb of what's going on."

He took a full minute to ponder on his answer as he ate his portion of the treacle tart.

"Muggle-borns will once again be allowed a magical education," he said finally.

"Will they really be?"

"Yes."

She had not expected such encouraging news.

"I thought the Ministry would forbid it, given… the circumstances."

"Most pure-blood supremacists have been advocating the complete exclusion of Muggle-borns from our world, yes," he clarified, taking a sip from his goblet. "However, such a system cannot work. You can't prevent Muggle-borns from being born. What you _can_ do is control them. We intend to have them registered, provide them a special education, and lead them to occupy the jobs that need to be filled. There will be no exceptions. It stands to reason that Muggle-borns can't hope to be employed at the Ministry or receive important posts at St Mungo's any more than they can mix with pure-bloods and half-bloods. But manpower remains necessary in many domains, and this is where they'll be helpful."

Lily's heart plummeted. The plans he had disclosed would doubtless ameliorate the desperate situation of the Muggle-borns in the country. And yet, they were beyond dreadful. She shivered at the idea of Muggle parents having their magical children forcibly taken away before being Obliviated; of the factual orphans forced to live in submission and misery.

"Will they be allowed to carry a wand?"

"Obviously."

She bit her lip.

"So does this mean… this first year has only been a test?"

"You can put it this way." His forearms were now braced on the table, and his expressionless look roamed over her torso. "Have I satisfied your curiosity?"

"Not just yet." She took a breath to steel herself against another painful reply. "What happened to the old members of the Order?"

For a few seconds, Severus said nothing. Then, "Most of them are dead."

She swallowed. "How?"

"As you remember, those who weren't executed straight away were given to my colleagues. The truth is, taking care of a slave is a challenge for a man's self-discipline, especially if the man happens to possess the needs and urges of a Macnair. Giving in to such urges usually leads to destroying the victim in a matter of months or even weeks. This is what happened to the majority of your friends. For my part," – Lily's heart missed a beat – "I've always considered you my lover and wife rather than a slave, so you have never been in true danger. To my knowledge, though, I'm the only Death Eater who has ever loved an Order member."

One could believe that death had been a more humane destiny for those proud, brave people than the hardships and humiliations of captivity. But it was far from a happy outcome; they had not deserved either fate.

Severus was studying her impatiently. It was plain he knew everything she was thinking.

She was about to leave her seat when one last question occurred to her. "What about Andromeda Tonks and her family? She wasn't in the Order, yet she never joined your side."

His answer stunned her.

"Andromeda Tonks slipped between our fingers. She, her Muggle-born husband and their child fled abroad a few days before the Ministry fell." He smirked. "When Bellatrix heard the news, she went ballistic. She wants them dead."

Lily hoped with all her heart Bellatrix would never find the family.

With an air of finality, Severus drank the remains of his water and set the goblet on the table as if to indicate the interrogation was at an end.

"Where do you reckon they might have gone?" Lily queried tentatively.

He refused to heed her. "Let's take a shower together, shall we?"

"I've already showered."

"Very well, then; I won't take long. Come along."

She put her hand into his offered palm, and they headed for their chambers.

"This house is much too spacious," she heard him murmur while they walked through a long hallway.

"It's nowhere as spacious as Hogwarts."

"Hmm."

The following hour was bliss. Her skin sang where he caressed her, and her body clenched around him in pleasure so intense it was unnatural.

"I love you," he whispered in her ear, fondling her breasts. She had her back propped against his chest, and her head was leaning on his shoulder as she rode his pulsing erection. It felt both gratifying and easy to return his declaration.

Later in the night, he drifted off to sleep, his left arm wrapped around her. Although tired and sore, she was unable to bring her tense muscles to relax. And then, what she feared the most happened: a new spark of arousal flared in her blood, haunting and merciless like a nightmare. Her eyes shifted furtively to Severus's sleeping profile, but she knew she would rather die than awaken him for such a reason. She gritted her teeth and waited, willing her desire to subside. When it became too much to tolerate, her hand ventured down her torso in a frantic attempt to quench some of the fire in her crotch.

If this horror did not end very soon, she would ask Severus for a bottle of Sleeping Draught. What did it matter that she had come to loathe potions of all kinds?

* * *

A few weeks later, her lust abated to some extent. Numb and exhausted, Lily barely had the will to rise from her bed in the morning. She spent her days tending to her baby and looking out of the window at the green expanse of the Dark Forest, for they had returned to Hogwarts. She prayed this abnormal concupiscence would never reemerge.

Now that her emotional strength was at its weakest, an unsettling thought was germinating in her mind: how long would it take before Severus lost interest in her?

She was crushed and diseased; her seemingly pretty body was succumbing to inexplicable disorders caused by a long-term potion abuse, the suffering she had endured, and the Merlin-knew-how-many Memory Charms he had inflicted on her. Writing them off as mere symptoms of withdrawal would be foolish. Since she had acquired only fundamental knowledge in Healing and Muggle medicine, she surmised that an excess of magic might have partly damaged her brain, which, in turn, had led to her mysterious physiological fluctuations. And if this were true, the malady might also take its toll on her looks. As for her _personality_…

A vibrant magical painting of a plump young girl immersed in conversation with her cherubic suitor was hanging on a wall in her small room. Huddled on the bed with her knees pressed to her chest, Lily watched the enamored couple coo, aware that the blonde girl's baroque paleness was by no means as unhealthy as her own.

She doubted there would ever be anything worth living for in this world – truth to tell, her wish to die was as fervent as before. Should Severus's desire wane, she might actually hope for death. He had told her once the Dark Lord had forbidden his Death Eaters to set the former Order members free: if they no longer wanted to take care of the slaves, they were to either kill them or cede them to another Death Eater. They could never release them, though, for the prisoners might pass on precious information to the opponents of the regime and even become leaders or martyr figures in a potential resistance movement. And wouldn't death constitute an immense relief?

But a part of her remembered the terror she had felt when being faced with the gruesome depiction of her death in the would-be Mirror of Erised. Besides, the idea of losing Severus's – however distorted – love was intolerable. He was her tormentor, yet he was also her support and the only one who gave her a sense of security and care.

In the end, there was nothing but anxiety to keep her company – no hope, no pleasure, and certainly no serenity. Not even the touch of his hands on her shoulders could distract her.

"What's ailing you?" he whispered from behind her.

She shook her head noncommittally. Without further preamble, he slid a hand under her chin and tilted her head back, seeking eye contact. His gaze bore into hers, expertly delving into the recesses of her mind. Once he located the thoughts he was looking for, he paused, then released her face to stroke it.

"There is something you need to understand," he said softly. Warmth was seeping from his fingers into her skin. "I'm tied to you for the rest of my life. Our marriage wasn't politically acceptable, and I had to request the Dark Lord's express permission to make it come true; moreover, he performed the ceremony himself. If I abandon you, he will interpret my gesture as an ultimate show of disrespect for his time and benevolence and will kill me." He granted her a sincere, if faint, smile. "You see, our union is one of the best forms of protection I could give you. It received the Dark Lord's approval and therefore cannot be undone."

His reasons, convincing as they were, did little to assuage her fears.

"This doesn't imply you can't stop loving me," she murmured. "And what's there to love in the first place? I'm a wreck."

"So am I." His voice was very quiet. "Have you ever considered that?"

Emotionally abused and scarred from early childhood, he had never escaped his own demons. Had he broken her so they would be a match?

"Still, you love me, Lily."

She buried her face against her folded knees.

* * *

The Covered Bridge was creaking in the evening chill, its wood boards old and wobbly, nebulous shadows creeping through the carved windows. The castle loomed majestically before her, most of its lower windows illuminated. It was the end of supper time, and the corridors would soon be lively. She had time to finish her stroll without hurry.

She had walked all the way down to the small lake at the limit of Hogwarts grounds, beyond which the Dementors stood their guard. The path had led through the antique courtyard, the Bridge, the Stone Circle, and the narrow plateau where Hagrid's hut had once been. She had never forgotten his giant pumpkins James and she had admired five years ago on a similar stroll. Now, like everyone else, he was gone. A semi-demolished wood construction was all that remained of his house.

Lily had found that memories no longer hurt like before. She wondered whether this realization should please or afflict her, for while her sorrow was alleviated, it also meant she had changed, accepted the new order. It remained, however, that no amount of grieving would bring the old times back. No amount of daydreaming, either.

Damara Dodderidge's portrait greeted her at the Clock Tower Entrance. With a wave of her hand and a melancholic _hello, hello,_ the depicted witch resumed her habitual requests for food. Lily turned her steps toward the Headmaster's Tower. Around her, groups of students were scuttling from the library or patiently waiting for the Grand Staircase to rearrange itself into the shortest itinerary to the dungeons.

The discipline at school had become stricter than ever before. After the curfew, the Carrows would patrol the corridors with the assistance of the prefects and the Head Boy and Girl – two insufferable pure-blood youngsters with perfect grades and boundless ambitions. The Carrows made Lily think of underachievers suffering from an inferiority complex: having never accomplished anything of consequence, they perceived Hogwarts as their private domain where no one could challenge their authority. Severus, for most part, tolerated their methods, and they displayed a genuine respect for him in return.

As she passed the entrance to the Armoury, she spotted Peeves floating in the direction of the Grand Staircase, a box of Dungbombs in his arms. Lily flattened herself against the wall so he would not see her. She had become good at hiding. In earlier days, she would be the most striking girl among her peers: her flaming hair, Gryffindor colors and cheerful mood rendered her memorable, and she would not mind. This had changed.

After her wedding, she had been grateful to discover that her scarlet clothes had all turned different colors. As a Death Eater's wife, she was no longer required or even allowed to wear the Gryffindor red assigned to the war prisoners. Midnight blue was now her color of preference: it was soothing and neutral and drew little attention to her. When she took a walk, she would also pull the hood of her cloak over her hair. It was a shame she could not do the same during the Death Eater festivities.

"Essence of Dittany," she said to the ugly gargoyle at the foot of the spiral staircase before being lifted to the Headmaster's office.

The circular chamber was dark and deserted except for the two portraits snoring in their frames. She crossed it in a few strides and opened an inconspicuous backdoor to ascend the stairs that led to Severus's private rooms. There, she quickly removed her cloak, impatient to check on her baby she had left with a house-elf.

By the time Severus returned, she was sitting on the carpet of the living room, her eyes fixed on the crackling fire. He was in a menacing mood. She hardly noticed, though; her spirits were lower than she could remember.

"I wish I could have a pet," she confessed thoughtfully.

He responded with dark silence.

"It's not that I would try to plot or send secret letters," she elaborated. "Come to this, there is no one I could write to. An animal would simply… cheer me up."

"You have a husband and a son. I would expect that taking care of a baby is demanding enough to require your full attention."

She sighed and fell quiet. Flames twisted in the hearth, and she imagined the face of Mary or Alice appearing in the fire to talk to her, as they had frequently done two years before.

"Then maybe I could have some music? This constant silence is driving me insane. There used to be an old gramophone in one of the storage—"

"Lily, I brought those books to Black Manor for you. So far, I haven't seen you open a single one."

She turned her head to glance at him. He was seated in an armchair a few feet away, his eyes implacable.

"Books are different. You see, listening to music is much more emotional. And there doesn't seem to be a point reading any more."

Such reflections were the most certain means to kindle his fury, and the dangerous gleam in his gaze confirmed that her words had had a rather unpleasant effect on his temper. But she was too tired to care, too desperate for a small pleasure to pay heed to these warnings.

"You promised to make me happy," she said earnestly. "You said you'd give me everything I wanted."

"_Everything_ doesn't include nonsense."

His tone was so dry that she looked away in discomfort. She could sense his anger swell in the new silence, scorching them both. Then he spoke again.

"Have you thought of writing?"

_Ah, yes. _The story of her life would make such a charming set of memoirs.

"Writing a book?" she asked, struggling to keep the derision from her voice.

"A journal. Anything you wish."

"No, I haven't thought of it."

_Writing a journal!_ If this were not the most ridiculous suggestion she had lately heard, she could not tell what was.

Neither said another word for the rest of the evening, but Lily was mistaken to assume he would let her little insolence go without retribution.

The expression on his face was fierce as he considered her pale, thin body spread on the sheets. Without warning, without even removing his shirt, he swooped down and pinned her hands above her head. An indistinct spell, and she found her wrists tied to the headboard. Her breath hitched. His movements were so swift her eye failed to catch them; she only knew he had produced his wand, which ignited at the tip. He lowered it to her chest, where the drop of fire licked at her skin.

"What are you doing?"

Hair had fallen into his eyes, yet he did not shake it away, did not even raise his gaze. His hand slid lower as though he intended to burn a line across her torso. Although the flame never touched her, it hovered unnervingly close, a fragment of an inch from her skin. Were it not for this subtle threat, she would have bucked and fought her restraints with all her might. The wand was trailing downwards, toward her navel and—

"Severus, _no!_ Stop it! Stop it!"

No reaction. The fire had almost reached her private parts.

"_Severus_!"

The wand continued its path. This time, however, he responded in a gentle tone that sent spirals of fear into her chest. "Yes, Lily?"

"Don't do this!"

He finally looked at her, impassive like a weathered statue. "Why not? This is something your old friends get on a daily basis, you know."

There was a strange, sinister resonance to his voice. It did not sound remotely amused, quite the opposite; the silent anger behind its flatness was much more frightening than the flame at his wand tip. Lily was frozen in apprehension. He had never done this before, not to her.

With an irritable flick of his wrist, he extinguished the ball of fire, but Lily had barely had the time to sigh in relief before he inserted the wand into her. She cried out, her entire body tensing. The slim piece of wood was so hot – almost incandescent – and impossibly long. Tears of shock and pain sprang to her eyes, and while the sensation was not beyond endurance, she instinctively felt terrified of the harm it might cause her. Not a muscle twitched in Severus's face as he watched her writhe in dismay.

Abruptly, he pulled the wand out of her, and then it was thrust in again and again in a macabre parody of an intimate act. The object was cooling quickly, and Lily realized with a nauseated jolt that her desire was returning in force. It was impossible to tell whether he was using magic to exacerbate her arousal, whether her disoriented body even _needed_ magic to excite itself.

In a matter of minutes, she was gasping with need and aching for something thicker than the wand. Her lust was as powerful as it had been upon her withdrawal from the infamous potion; tears of both pain and shame were running from her eyes. Still, Severus did no more than stare at her. She could not believe he was hurting her this cruelly for having expressed a wish for distraction.

In spite of her torment, she was coming very close to the blissful moment of release. She was almost there…_ Almost—_

And then the wand was gone. She arched on her spot, whimpering with frustration.

"Augustus Rookwood used to be very fond of teasing his victim to the point of madness without ever satisfying her," Severus whispered, his voice as smooth as the silk. "Stimulating potions constituted his preferred tool, though he wasn't above experimenting with various Muggle devices. He would usually take his slave from behind, and on rarer occasions, he would favor her by coming down her throat. And believe me, it was the only thing Miss McKinnon was allowed to swallow in days, unless we count his Dark brews and some water. I dare assume she was secretly happy to lose a hand in Macnair's care, as it made her valueless in Augustus's eyes."

Lily was trembling. Even as her loins burned, his words were chilling her to the bone.

"But you already have a notion of the Death Eaters' idea of a good time. What you want to know is the actual fate of your old friends. Let me enlighten you in detail."

She shook her head slightly, her voice having deserted her. He continued nonetheless.

"Miss McKinnon was used for an experiment Augustus was conducting at the Department of Mysteries. She lasted two days before her skin disintegrated like wet parchment. Edgar Bones and his wife were respectively Crucio'd and killed by Rodolphus and Bellatrix. The Prewetts' end proved to be the most entertaining of all: our men craved action, so they let the brothers duel them. As far as I remember, that evening culminated with Lucius and Antonin slaying the pompous redheads at a second's interval. This leaves, among others, Emmeline Vance, who died from her injuries after a particularly wild gang bang…"

"Stop it," she whispered, her eyes awash with tears.

A pause of several seconds ensued, then she felt his lips against her ear. "Do you like it, Lily? Would you enjoy being treated in the same way? I can accommodate you."

"No," she breathed voicelessly.

"They could only dream of being in your place. Torture, hunger and abuse were all they experienced in their masters' hands. Most of them didn't survive a year, and those who did now resemble Inferi. Yet here you are, loved, pampered and indulged in every way a Dark Lord's enemy can possibly imagine, and whining more than all your tortured friends combined."

Lily's eyes opened wide, and her heart gave a throb.

"What is it you want from me?" he went on in his deadliest tone. "I married you at my peril; I put my position at stake to assure you the best care and comfort a war prisoner could hope for; I gave up my chance to have an heir from a pure-blood woman so we could stay together for the rest of our lives. And all you can do in return is cry and lament like a spoiled brat. Let me tell you, Lily, the world won't end because of you."

Having finished his diatribe, he whipped away, and her shackles vanished. She instantly turned onto her side, curling on herself. Her scorched intimate passage hurt badly.

As fierce as his harangue had been, it had left her with a peculiar feeling of amused bitterness. She pressed the crumpled blanket to her chest, a joyless smirk on her tear-stained features. For the first time in months, he had expressed his true emotions. And those emotions were anger at her passivity and impatience with her melancholia.

"Forgive me, Severus," she uttered slowly, "but I don't quite understand your frustration. What is it that _you_ want from me? To be happy? To be grateful? To become a paragon of a satisfied housewife? I wish this were possible; believe it or not, I wish it even more than you do. Except it's a foolish hope. You wanted me to suffer for having rebuffed you, and you succeeded. While I love you, I'm dead in all the senses that matter. You can't build a new life from the ruins of the past or gratify me be giving me a new family after having brought the death of my old one. In fact, _nothing_ you can do will change my mindset, and it's not because of my stubbornness."

Her answer was followed by a silence so absolute it seemed deafening. He did not move, did not speak, did not respond in any manner.

A quarter of an hour must have elapsed when she heard him rise and leave the room. His pace was hard, neither hasty nor slow. At once, she recalled that awful night a year ago when he had massacred a family of house-elves in a fit of fury, and she sat straight on the bed, listening anxiously. No sound met her ear.

Hours were stretching to the length of a lifetime. Lily's fears had receded, and she lay in a listless heap on the disarranged bed, her eyes fixed on the flame of a dying candle. Despite her newfound calm, Severus's hostile unresponsiveness oppressed her. She glanced at the open door to find their living room dark. After a long hesitation, she got to her feet and put on her dressing gown, wincing at the pain in her private parts. The carpet muffled her steps as she walked into the larger chamber.

The last embers in the fireplace had gone cold. The tower windows, however, let in a little moonlight, enough to discern the contours of the room. She spotted him sitting in an armchair, the same one he had occupied earlier that evening.

Slowly, she lowered herself onto one of the armrests, peering at his face. His expression was chilling to behold. Even in the shadows, the stark lines of his profile and the grim set to his jaw were prominent. His eyes were so black, so vacant that they could as well belong to a dummy rather than a living man: this was not their usual protective blankness but a complete absence of thoughts or emotions. Lily wondered if, in the Muggle superstition, demons were believed to have such hollow eyes.

It took all her willpower to hold his glare. Yet as she did so, a most unexpected surge of compassion swept through her heart. He was indescribably lonely, lost in his wretched existence – even more so than herself.

"Let's lie down," she whispered, brushing his hand with her fingers.

He stared at her but did not budge.

"Come along," she insisted.

With a few tugs at his arm, she forced him to stand and walk over to the couch; they were not going to spend the rest of the night in the bedroom if she could help it. She asked him once again to lie down before joining him and covering them both with a quilt she snatched from the top of the backrest. Although narrow, the couch would suffice for the remaining several hours. Lily pressed herself to his chest and wound her arms around his torso, vaguely certain that the world had gone insane and that neither of them would fall asleep.

But she did. When she awoke, the room was bathed in sunlight, and she was alone.

An idea occurred to her later that morning while she watched her baby play with a plush hippogriff. She took a stack of parchment, a bottle of ink, and a quill from Severus's office – not to write, as he had suggested (she still considered the idea ludicrous), but to draw. Sketches of the castle turrets, of tentacular plants crawling across heavy volumes, and of ghosts floating through the hallways were multiplying beneath her hands. It was as good an occupation as any.

Severus entered their chambers after dusk. Cold and curt, he enquired whether she fancied having dinner in Diagon Alley, to which she nodded in puzzlement. For the first time in countless months, she took care to make herself pretty; she went so far as to enhance her features with beauty aids and to tastefully arrange her hair. Not that her appearance meant anything to her; it was Severus she was hoping to please, his bitter loneliness she was attempting to alleviate. She settled for a green robe and a matching witch's hat, and her choice coaxed, indeed, a reluctant smile from him.

When they stepped out of the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron, Lily was surprised to discover how little both the inn and the Alley had changed. Though by no means as busy as before, they still lived to their purpose. The customers could be divided in two distinct groups: the minions of the regime who strutted across the street as though wizarding London belonged to them, and the humble folk who preferred to keep to the shadows at all times.

They took dinner in a quiet eating place that had recently been built next to Flourish and Blotts. The staff was prompt and attentive, trained to serve the needs of a pure-blood clientele. Their conversation was sparse, awkward even, but the looks they exchanged – hers searching, his inscrutable – spoke more eloquently than words. By the end of the night, long after their return and an hour of uncommonly tender lovemaking, she knew their dispute was forgotten.

* * *

Another month slipped by, similar to a cloudy afternoon, or perhaps five years of oblivion. Secluded in the Headmaster's Tower, Lily dedicated her time to her baby, who had progressively learned to crawl, and to the numerous sketches she drew to chase boredom away. This same month, however, brought unexpected changes to the Death Eaters' middle.

Severus spent five nights in a row by the Dark Lord's side. Before the week was over, Lily had had the chance to hear the news which briefly breached her indifference: Andromeda had been captured. According to Severus's recounting, she and her family had fled to France, where they had been hiding under a false name and with magically altered physical appearances. The credit for hunting them down went to Bellatrix, who had literally tortured the information out of her sister's contacts she had mysteriously unearthed. It also was she who had ended the life of Andromeda's Muggle-born husband, Ted Tonks, the day the capture had taken place.

But to Bellatrix's immense fury, no execution had befallen the prisoner; on the contrary, the Dark Lord, indecisive on the young woman's fate, would engage in long, private conversations with her. As Severus told Lily, certain Death Eaters had even wagered bets. Most of them were convinced Andromeda would be killed in an act of intimidation against their master's potential opponents; the others pointed out she had been clever enough to rouse the Dark Lord's interest and that he would sooner kill his most loyal servant than this intriguing new toy.

In the end, he spared her with the condition that she marry one of his pure-blood followers. Tonks's daughter was recognized as an innate Metamorphmagus – a talent so rare it rendered her extremely valuable to the Dark side – and entrusted to Bellatrix and Rodolphus to raise in accordance with Voldemort's ideology. The very idea nauseated Lily. Few misfortunes could compare, in her opinion, to having one's child put in charge of the likes of the Lestranges: a fanatical, cruel, short-tempered couple. Meanwhile, the prospect of Andromeda's hand in marriage sparked off a minor confrontation between Rabastan, Dolohov and Yaxley, from which Dolohov emerged victorious.

"The Black women are not easy to manage," Severus explained to an astonished Lily. "Antonin is very tough. Out of the three, he is the most apt to handle her."

"Narcissa doesn't give the impression of a difficult wife," she objected skeptically.

"Narcissa married Lucius of her own will. Their union is one of love. This isn't quite true for Bellatrix, and it certainly isn't true for Andromeda and Antonin. Besides, from what I've seen these days, the older sisters are somewhat alike. You will see."

Lily received the opportunity to meet the middle daughter of Cygnus Black at the feast that was arranged shortly after the discreet wedding ceremony.

Unlike the wealthiest Death Eaters, Dolohov, a pure-blood wizard of Bulgarian descent, did not own a mansion in the countryside. He lived in a modest house in London, which, at some point, must have been placed under an Extension Charm to accommodate all his guests.

He was glowing with pride and victory as he ushered them in. One glance at Andromeda left Lily to wonder at her strong resemblance to Bellatrix; both sisters were graced with the chiseled features and the haughty, patrician beauty of the Blacks. Andromeda's hair was a light coppery brown, and so were, upon closer inspection, her eyes. These were softer and kinder than Bellatrix's, and as much could be said of the set of her full lips.

That evening, however, her gaze burned with hatred and contempt so powerful that she could easily be mistaken for her dangerous sister poised for attack. She towered on her seat like an irritated cobra, all but piercing the Death Eaters with the intensity of her glares and ignoring both Antonin and Bellatrix, who were lingering a few feet away as if to ensure she could neither escape nor conspire.

An hour into the celebration, the tension among the guests had ebbed away. Lily had not once left Severus's side, and she presently felt it was safe to approach the captive young woman. Severus had become absorbed in a discussion with Avery and had unconsciously withdrawn his arm from around her. When she stole away, he briefly looked up but did not attempt to stop her.

Her heart was pounding. In spite of the pang of pity in her chest, she could not truly fathom why she longed to speak to Andromeda and what she intended to tell her. Perhaps she wished to do it because she knew better than anyone else what the woman was going through.

Quietly, she reached Andromeda's seat and addressed her.

"I've been told what happened," she said. "I can't express how sorry I am for your loss. I met your husband only once, yet he was one of the bravest, kindest people I've ever encountered. I wish there were a way to reverse this terrible misfortune; please know, however, that if you should ever need help, I would be happy to assist you in any way I can."

Even as she formulated her little speech, a peculiar unease was settling in, as though the comfort she was offering had the opposite effect on the captive than she had anticipated. Andromeda was staring at her, her eyes glacial and her expression one of contempt.

Lily wavered. Was she being disrespectful? Had her sympathy come across as offending? Certain people, the pure-bloods in particular, could not suffer being commiserated – in other words, being seen as weak. Sirius had been one of those people.

"Is there anything at all I can do for you?" she asked gently.

A chuckle burst out off to her side.

"No, I don't think so." The woman's enunciation was bitingly precise. "Forgive me if I remark that I'm not the one who needs help. _I_ haven't been stripped of my magic and accepted it, nor have I allowed Death Eater scum to manipulate me. You, on the other hand, have embraced a simulacrum of a life and let them win without a fight. If you had ever tried to flee or resist, you would know there is always a way to 'reverse this terrible misfortune.' So with all respect, I'd advise you to keep your compassion to yourself. Your need is greater than mine."

Lily stayed very still, gaping into the coppery eyes that showed no mercy. There was nothing else to say. She turned and made her way to Severus on unsteady legs. Laughter was trailing behind her, but it could as well be a trick of her senses.

In the course of their conversation, Severus and Avery had got to their feet, and she waited patiently for them to finish. Her face was burning.

_You have embraced a simulacrum of a life and let them win without a fight. _

Andromeda's retort had felt like a blow to her stomach. She had condemned Lily as though she had had the slightest idea what it was like to watch her loved ones die in unbearable conditions or give birth to a child she did not love. She had never spent a year in captivity, enduring never-ending rape and humiliation. She had not been forced to outlive—

Hot tears spilled from Lily's eyes at the memory of her Harry. Andromeda still had her daughter to live and fight for. She, Lily, had nothing and nobody left with the exception of her artificial _simulacrum_ of a family, as the other woman had put it.

Cramp-like pain invaded her, and she clamped her palm to her mouth, the fingers of her other hand digging into Severus's arm until he cast her a distracted glance.

"Are you all—"

His eyebrows rose. She seldom cried unless hurt by _his_ words or actions.

"There, there." He enfolded her, frowning a little, and she found herself losing her entire self-control at the soothing motion of his hand in her hair.

It was then that the laughter resounded again, more distinct this time. It was Bellatrix's shrill, chilling cackle of glee.

"Isn't it _lovely_?" the black-eyed witch jeered. "The sweet little Mudblood feels sorry for my dear sister."

"Shut up!" Andromeda's voice cut in.

"Now, now, dear, where are your manners? Don't you see your rudeness has upset your little defender? I say we send her to the Dark Lord this instant – who knows, maybe she'll negotiate your immediate release. After all, who has more power to helpyou than _she_?"

"I'm warning you – shut your disgusting mouth."

Lily's face was tilted up toward Severus's. His gaze drilled into hers, plunging deeper and deeper into the meanders of her mind. When he withdrew, his eyes were narrowed over her head.

"Bellatrix," he said softly, "what exactly are _you_ laughing at? Or are your histrionics a means to cure your wounded pride? True, it must have been hard for you to lose the Dark Lord to a blood traitor. Ever since she came around, he doesn't seem to find your company intellectually appealing any more."

The witch's laughter died as if throttled. Lily could not see what happened next, for he was still holding her immobile, but she did hear the collective sigh of tension everyone expelled. Then a brief commotion ensued: Bellatrix had taken out her wand and was preparing to fire a curse.

She was stopped by a lean figure that swooped across the room to position herself in the middle of the altercation.

"Stop it, both of you!" Narcissa – it was her voice – hissed to her sisters. "Are you out of your mind? Since when do the Blacks find it entertaining to bicker over Mudblood whores?"

Her intervention brought the desired result: Bellatrix and Andromeda remained silent, though they continued glowering at each other with mutual loathing.

"Let's get out of here," Severus whispered to Lily. "Come, my doe."

He wrapped an arm around her waist before leading her out of the dining hall. Smirking faces surrounded them – female skirmishes were a distraction the Death Eaters rarely had a chance to witness.

Dolohov abandoned his chatter to show them into a smaller room, painted dark purple. Severus seated Lily on a settee and lowered himself to her side, pulling out a handkerchief, since her tears would not stop. Dolohov stayed at the doorstep, a drink in his hand.

"I apologize for my wife's insolence. I'll see that she never insults you again." The amused smile on his face only accentuated the falseness of his regret.

"We're sure you will," Severus muttered. He began dabbing at Lily's cheeks.

The door closed quietly behind the older Death Eater. For a moment, Severus tended to her without a word, his expression pensive.

"Forget Bellatrix," he uttered finally. "She lives in a different world. You and she have nothing in common, and whatever she says is of no consequence. As for Andromeda," he put his handkerchief back into his pocket and fixed her with a penetrating look, "let me tell you something. According to the information we have obtained through interrogation, she was in hiding for nineteen months, which means she saw us coming and left the country days before our victory over the Order. Now the interesting part is that she took no one with her besides her husband and daughter – not even Sirius, whom she claimed to like. And as much as I've detested Sirius Black, I'm convinced he wouldn't have fled without his friends. Do you see what I'm hinting at?"

She swallowed drily. Why was he telling her this?

"There is no need to torment yourself," he assured her gloomily. "It would have changed nothing. I would have found you no matter where you were hiding; I'd have been fiercer than Bellatrix. But it would have made a difference, wouldn't it? Think about it. Who is _she_ to give you lessons on ethics?"

Her breathing had already resumed its regular rhythm; only her throat still felt constricted.

"She was afraid of putting her family in danger," she replied.

On a certain level, she understood Andromeda's secrecy and had no wish to start an argument about the woman's personality.

"Can we leave?"

"Not right away."

"Then I'd rather wait here. I can't bear to go back just yet."

He nodded and then placed a light kiss on her lips. With a flick of his wand, a plate of food and a goblet of water materialized on the table. Although eating was at the bottom of her list of concerns, she appreciated the gesture.

As soon as he was gone, she lay down on the settee and pressed one alabaster hand against her equally pale forehead. A familiar whistling noise was filling the air and the space: the sound of a spinning Sneakoscope. Except this time, it was coming from her own head.


End file.
